


the admin stick

by picritic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Banter. So much banter., Glitter, Kindaichi Gets A Glitter Wand, Kindaichi Is A Little Shit, Light Angst, M/M, Matsuhana Are Terrible Influences, Matsuhana Cause Problems On Purpose, Matsukawa Is A Proud Senpai, Mostly humor, No Not The Fairy Godmother Kind, Nonbinary Character, Oikawa Is A Liar, PDA Police, Rated T for swearing, Self-Indulgent, The First Years Are Corrupted By Glitter, This Wand Distributes Glitter, This Was Supposed To Be Maybe 3k Words, no beta i live life on the edge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28929111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picritic/pseuds/picritic
Summary: The PDA between Oikawa and Iwaizumi has gotten out of hand. Matsukawa and Hanamaki have an idea on how to curb it.Enter the first years, a paper wand, and a bag of hot pink glitter.Matsukawa grins at them all, twirling the stick in his fingers. It’s wrapped in cellophane to prevent sparkles from rubbing off onto his clothes, but there are a few stray bits of glitter clinging to his uniform jacket and pants. “Nowthis,” he says, brandishing the stick like a conductor’s baton, “is the admin stick. And we” – he gestures to himself and Hanamaki – “are granting it to our dear, precious kouhai as a boon of goodwill and good luck against the evils of excess affection.”
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro & Iwaizumi Hajime & Matsukawa Issei & Oikawa Tooru, Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Referenced Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 9
Kudos: 136





	the admin stick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siliquastrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siliquastrum/gifts).



> This started as a silly discord dm exchange between me and [siliquastrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siliquastrum)... and it swiftly evolved into this 11k monster. It's entirely self-indulgent and I had way too much fun writing it. Enjoy!

The Seijoh boy’s volleyball team has never been quiet, and today is no exception. 

The clubroom door flies open, smacking into the wall with a loud _thud_ and nearly hitting Kunimi, who manages to jump away only at the last second. Across the room, Kyoutani swears loudly.

Heads turn. Eyes widen at the sight of Kindaichi’s pale and mottled face in the doorway.

Oh.

The first year swallows hard, his gaze shakily meeting Matsukawa’s as the door swings shut behind him.

 _Oh._

That, Matsukawa thinks gleefully, is the face of someone who just stumbled upon the worst sight a kouhai could imagine.

“You caught them again, didn’t you?” he asks, the grin stretching across his face. Beside him, Hanamaki has also realized and is barely holding back laughter. Matsukawa can feel him trembling with the force of his restraint. “We _warned_ you about going into the equipment room after practice. I think it was in the welcome packet we gave you.”

“’Don’t go into the equipment room once the floor’s been mopped’ and ‘ _don’t_ sleep too close to them during training camp’. I feel like that one needs reiteration, what with the long weekend coming up soon,” Hanamaki says, fighting back a grin of his own. “One of last year’s third years once ended up dragged into their spooning pile and I don’t think he’s ever recovered, and that was _before_ they were together.”

Kindaichi shoots him a miserable glare and stalks across the clubroom to his bag. Watari pats him reassuringly on the back; the first year makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a groan. He rests his forehead on the wall, looking disconsolate.

Matsukawa shoots Watari a wink. The libero rolls his eyes at him.

“They’ve absolutely gotten worse since last year,” Yahaba says from next to them, fishing his button-down from his bag without looking at it. Instead, his eyes are narrowed warningly at Kyoutani, who’s glaring at the door as if waiting for the couple of the hour to appear. “But it’s not like we can do much to stop them.”

“Mm,” Watari hums, head tilting thoughtfully. He’s still rubbing Kindaichi’s back; the first year is yet to remove his forehead from the wall. “Oikawa seems to find it funny. We’d probably get Iwaizumi to be better about it, but I think he thinks they’re being subtle.”

There’s a collective snort around the room; there is absolutely nothing subtle about Oikawa’s and Iwaizumi’s relationship. The clubroom door opens and closes as Kunimi slips out, uninterested in the conversation; Matsukawa watches them go, amused.

And then there are familiar voices on the stairwell, rising and falling in greeting and goodbye. Footsteps sound on the walkway outside.

Kindaichi makes a pathetic noise from the wall. Watari gently drags him away so he can change. It’s a distressing sight, really, and as amusing as the situation is, Oikawa and Iwaizumi _do_ need to be stopped. Matsukawa glances sideways at Hanamaki, who nods at him, the same light shining in his eyes. Then, before the door opens and nearly as one, they speak to the room.

“We think we have an idea.”

x

They gather in the clubroom after the gym is clean, lounging about on the benches in varying stages of dress and undress. Matsukawa and Hanamaki are the only ones fully in uniform; everyone else is halfway there at best, their bags overflowing on the floor and collared shirts buttoned only partway atop practice shorts.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi, heads bowed towards each other, don’t seem to notice anything amiss with the scene.

Good.

Matsukawa nudges Hanamaki with his elbow, quirking an eyebrow upwards. _It’s time,_ the look said, and as usual the other boy reads him flawlessly. He smirks back in response, then stands. “Alright everyone, listen up!” he begins, and quickly catches Kunimi by the collar before they try to slip away in a state of half-dress. “‘Everyone’ also means you, Kunimi, no slipping out this time.”

The first year sighs, resigned, and sits back on the bench with a thump. They start pulling on their button-down but are clearly already tuning out of the conversation.

Matsukawa pulls a long paper baton covered in hot pink glitter out of his bag.

A soft hush falls over the clubroom as everyone stares. Even Kunimi looks up, curious about the change in atmosphere, and their eyes widen ever-so-slightly at the sight.

Matsukawa grins at them all, twirling the stick in his fingers. It’s wrapped in cellophane to prevent sparkles from rubbing off onto his clothes, but there are a few stray bits of glitter clinging to his uniform jacket and pants. “Now _this_ ,” he says, brandishing the stick like a conductor’s baton, “is the admin stick. And we” – he gestures to himself and Hanamaki – “are granting it to our dear, precious kouhai as a boon of goodwill and good luck against the evils of excess affection.”

The word seems to be a cue. At the back of the room, Oikawa – half-dressed and only half-listening, his chin resting on Iwaizumi’s shoulder as they murmur together – tenses. He quiets mid-sentence and slowly turns to look at the sparkly baton, eyes narrowing.

Matsukawa continues, seeing Hanamaki’s grin towards Oikawa from the corner of his eye. He represses a grin of his own as he steps over to Kindaichi and presents the stick with a theatrical bow. Kindaichi takes it with a wondering look.

“Use this whenever you feel threatened by certain over-amorous senpai,” Matsukawa says firmly, solemnly. “It’s made of paper, so don’t be afraid of hurting anything but their pride.” Hanamaki snorts. “If we find glitter on either of them, we’ll know to come looking for you wherever you’ve gone to wash your brain out with soap.”

Oikawa nudges Iwaizumi, who tunes into the conversation in time to see Kindaichi slowly removing the cellophane from the ‘stick’. He holds it over the floor and as he removes more of the plastic, bits of pink glitter start to rain to the ground. Iwaizumi’s eyes widen and he turns to stare suspiciously at Matsukawa and Hanamaki, lips pursing.

They both grin at him and Hanamaki reaches into his own bag, throwing a wink at Oikawa, who immediately stiffens, one hand gripping Iwaizumi’s bicep. With a flourish, Hanamaki pulls out a rolled scroll of paper and holds it up in the air like a scepter.

“Our dearest captain and vice-captain,” he begins, standing to his full height. Matsukawa steps away from Kindaichi to stand next to him, folding his arms over his chest. They pose for a moment, faces uncharacteristically solemn as they stare down their fellow third years. “Today, we are declaring war against PDA.”

“Makki–” Oikawa begins warningly, moving to stand, but Iwaizumi grabs the back of his collar.

Hanamaki ignores him. (Matsukawa thinks he may love this boy.)

“Now, we have created a scroll of rules -“

“- it took a lot of paper and tape, and there may be paper cut blood on one side, but you can ignore that -”

“- and as long as you follow them, Kindaichi will never have to use the admin stick on you.”

Together, they sit back on their heels, roguishly pleased with themselves. Around them, the rest of the team has dissolved into giggles; Kindaichi just stares at the glittery stick in his lap with faint horror and no small amount of pleasure. There’s already glitter all over his pant legs, but he doesn’t seem to care.

Oikawa is the first to move. He shakes off Iwaizumi’s hand, picks himself off the bench and strides over to a spot just behind the duo, leaning in to look at the ‘scroll’. Hanamaki keeps it rolled tightly shut; Matsukawa joins him in raising eyebrows pointedly at Iwaizumi until he sighs and joins them. Oikawa immediately latches back onto his arm, and a fresh wave of giggles breaks out.

Hanamaki clears his throat dramatically, raising the scroll to eye level. He unrolls it - not very well, as the tape gets stuck and he very nearly rips it in his efforts - but Matsukawa steps in quickly before any damage is done, pulling the tape away from the back of one of the pages. They hold the scroll together and take turns intoning the rules in deepened, dramatic voices.

“Rule one: no gross nicknames.”

Oikawa scoffs at that. His arm twines a little tighter around Iwaizumi’s shoulders; the other boy purses his lips. Matsukawa can _see_ him thinking about what that actually means, and he raises a taunting eyebrow.

“Rule two,” he begins, the corners of his mouth twitching, “no clinging to each other like the protagonists of a bad romance movie.”

This time, twined around and leaning on Iwaizumi, Oikawa’s scoff is a little louder. “We don’t do that.”

There’s a beat of silence. To his credit, Iwaizumi seems to be self-aware enough to try to keep a straight face. Matsukawa inwardly applauds his stolid refusal to shake off his clinging boyfriend. The rest of the team does not put in the same effort; Yahaba looks as though he were just given the world on a platter and Kindaichi looks positively gleeful, twirling his new ‘admin stick’ in his hands and ignoring the rain of glitter falling to the floor at his feet.

That’ll have to get mopped up later. Worth it.

“Rule three: no making out in practice or practice-adjacent areas. You’re scarring the first years.”

“And the second years.” Yahaba butts in, gestures at himself and Watari. Next to them, Kyoutani glowers, eyeing the glittery stick in Kindaichi’s hand.

“Yeah. And the third years,” Matsukawa adds, nodding sagely. “Basically, you’re scarring all of us, and we’d like to retain our gentle innocence for as long as possible.”

“Gentle innocence, my ass,” Oikawa bites, glaring at the scroll. His cheeks have darkened pink. “Like I haven’t caught the two of you together before.”

Hanamaki raises a thin eyebrow at him. “Us?” Matsukawa forces his face into neutrality as his boyfriend turns to him, a carefully crafted mask of innocence across his face. “Issei, have we ever been caught on school grounds?”

Matsukawa shakes his head solemnly. “Absolutely not.” He looks at the rest of the team, spreading an arm wide. “Have any of you ever found me and Hiro in any incriminating displays of affection? No?”

As the rest of the team shakes their heads emphatically (Kindaichi has the audacity to actually look confused by the question; Matsukawa is _so_ adopting him as his favorite kouhai for that one), they both turn, grinning slyly at Oikawa. “Looks like it’s your word against the team’s,” Hanamaki says simply. “And no _good_ captain would go against the team like that.”

Oikawa glares; Iwaizumi clears his throat, eyeing the scroll (and the rest of the rules) with a strange light in his eye. “We’re going to be late for class if you don’t finish this up.” There’s a note of caution in his voice; Matsukawa isn’t sure if it’s directed at them or at Oikawa.

He waves a hand airily in response. “Fine, we’ll go quick,” he concedes. He scans the scroll, corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “We eventually just started listing anything that deserves the admin stick.”

“Not-so-subtle handholding is on there. And wearing each other’s jackets.” Hanamaki glances at them. “Like you’re doing now. You know we can tell, right?”

There’s a faint flush spreading across Iwaizumi’s cheeks; he steps away, untangling himself from Oikawa and moving back to his bag to finish changing. Oikawa stays put, glaring fire at the scroll as if his gaze would light it up.

If it wasn’t on fire yet, they were fine. The fact that he hasn’t said anything yet is also promising, and despite knowing that he and Hanamaki will be getting an _earful_ later, he continues. “Arguments that make the rest of us want to slam our heads into a desk.”

“Blatant flirting.”

“Captain’s chats.” Matsukawa grins, and shoots a wink towards Iwaizumi’s back. The other boy’s shoulders stiffen at his words; if Matsukawa isn’t mistaken, there’s _definitely_ a flush tipping his ears.

Oikawa, however, only looks at them blankly, red rising in his cheeks. “What?”

“We all know you’re not talking about volleyball in those,” Hanamaki says slyly. “Kindaichi found that out first-hand the other day, after all. We considered barring you from the equipment room altogether, but we didn’t think Coach would greenlight that.”

The rest of the team seems to be caught between laughing outright and avoiding eye contact. Watari has a hand across his mouth to hold in his laughter; Yahaba has turned his face into Kyoutani’s jacket to smother his giggles (Kyoutani is trying very hard to look elsewhere, and is pointedly directing his glare towards the admin stick instead. They’ll have to keep an eye that he doesn’t steal the thing from Kindaichi at this rate).

Oikawa grumbles something rude under his breath that makes Hanamaki laugh. He steps away from the duo and stomps back to his bag, cheeks and ears flaming red. He mutters something to Iwaizumi, who smiles wanly at him as he pulls on his blazer. “If that’s all…” he says leadingly, raising an eyebrow at them.

Hanamaki quirks his own eyebrow right back. “Not quite,” he says mildly. “There’s a couple more we think you should hear. My personal favorite is ‘whenever the coach looks like he needs a nap after talking to both of you at the same time’.”

“It’s because we empathize with him.”

Yahaba snorts. Behind them, they even hear a soft sound from Kunimi, and Matsukawa hoards that one away in his ‘made a grumpy kouhai laugh’ folder. Oikawa looks like he’s just been asked to swallow an egg. Iwaizumi’s face has shuttered.

Yup, definitely getting an earful later.

“Very obvious flirting.”

“You said that already.”

“Oh. Then, that thing where you lean over each other’s shoulder and whisper all sweetly in the other’s ear.”

There’s a pause as they look at the scroll. “And finally,” Matsukawa continues, “playing footsie is definitely on there. Because for the _last time, Oikawa_ ,” he says, raising his voice slightly to ensure the other boy hears, “that was _my_ foot, not Iwaizumi’s!!”

Oikawa mutters something to Iwaizumi, who rolls his eyes. “No.”

“Iwa-chan.”

“I’m not your messenger boy.”

Oikawa glares at him, and Iwaizumi grumbles. “Fine.” He pulls his bag on over his shoulder and looks pointedly at Hanamaki and Matsukawa. “Oikawa would like me to tell you he’s not speaking to either of you for the rest of the day. He would also like me to say something else but it’s rude and shitty so I’m not going to.”

_“Iwa-chan!”_

“You know,” Hanamaki says mildly, glancing towards Kindaichi. “I hate to tell you this, but that absolutely counts as a gross nickname.”

Iwaizumi reddens blotchily. “Don’t hit him,” he mutters at Kindaichi, sounding vaguely resigned. His gaze darts towards the duo; Matsukawa feels pride well up in his chest at having so thoroughly worn him down over the last two years that even _this_ isn’t worth fighting. “If you hit him for every ‘Iwa-chan’ that thing will run out of glitter before lunch.”

Kindaichi grins at him. “I make no promises,” he says cheerfully, and _oh_ , they’ve taught him well; Matsukawa mimes wiping away a tear of joy and Hanamaki hands him an imaginary tissue. They fan themselves, batting their eyes at Kindaichi playfully.

He ignores them. Yeah, he’s definitely getting a pork bun later.

Iwaizumi heaves a sigh, glaring at them both. “Fine,” he mutters. “Come on, Oikawa.”

Oikawa hurries after him, making a face at Hanamaki and Matsukawa as he passes. He pauses in front of Kindaichi, pasting on his fakest smile. “Kindaichi-kun, if you hit me with that thing, you’re running extra laps for a month,” he says sweetly – and then he’s gone, disappearing with Iwaizumi out the door.

Just before the door clicks shut, there’s a loud _’thwap’_ of Iwaizumi smacking him in the back of the head. “You will _not_ , Shittykawa,” – and then their argument is muffled into low tones that fade out as they move away.

Matsukawa tilts his gaze towards Kindaichi once it quiets, pulling his most sympathetic look. “Ignore him,” he says firmly. “Think if it as being for the greater good. If they don’t learn now, we all suffer.”

“Also,” Hanamaki adds mischievously, leaning forward, “‘Shittykawa’ totally counts too.”

x

Iwaizumi is glittery and murderous and Matsukawa has never felt more proud of his middle blocker kouhai.

He sidles up to the other boy and slides his bento onto the desk next to him, waggling his eyebrows expectantly. “He got you, didn’t he?” he asks, eyeing the trail of hot pink down Iwaizumi’s back. “What’d he catch you two doing?”

Iwaizumi purses his lips, staring pointedly down at his lunch instead of responding, and Matsukawa paints on his most pathetic pout. “Come oooon,” he drawls, flicking away a speck of glitter from his own sleeve. “The ‘punishment’ is only for when you two misbehave in front of the kouhai, and Kindaichi’s the only one with the admin stick. You’re not gonna get hit by us.”

Iwaizumi does not respond, instead choosing to poke irritably at his rice with his chopsticks.

“I can’t believe you missed it. I wish I could’ve filmed it.” Hanamaki slides down into the desk behind Matsukawa, grinning. He reaches out and pokes the back of his boyfriend’s head; Matsukawa only smirks back at him. “He made the mistake of doing that sickeningly sweet back hug thing they do. Kissed Oikawa on the temple and everything. It was gross.”

“We were in the third-years hallway,” Iwaizumi protests stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest. His lunch continues to go largely ignored on the desk in front of him. “Kindaichi shouldn’t have even been there.”

Hanamaki clucks his tongue sympathetically. “He was probably asked for help with an errand by one of his upperclassmen. Truly amazing how the timing lined up so nicely.”

“Wonder who the upperclassman was.”

“We may never know.”

“Truly, it’s a mystery for our times.”

“Kindaichi can rest easy. If Oikawa figures out you’re the ones who sent him, you’re getting all his laps instead,” Iwaizumi grumbles. He shoves a bit of tofu into his mouth, the tips of his ears turning red.

Speaking of. “Where is Oikawa? Shouldn’t he be here by now? Or does his ‘not speaking to us all day’ rule mean he won’t sit with us, either?”

“He’s in the bathroom,” Hanamaki snickers. “Kindaichi got him, too. On the side of the head. There was glitter _everywhere_.”

_Oh no._

Matsukawa feels the laugh building in his chest; he quickly turns away so that Iwaizumi doesn’t see his face. “We probably should have put a ‘nothing from the neck up’ rule, shouldn’t we?”

Behind him, Hanamaki chuckles, and Iwaizumi grumbles something about how ‘you two aren’t the ones who have to hear him whine all day’.

“Oh shush _Iwa-chan~_ , you adore him and we all know it.”

There’s a beat of quiet. Hanamaki’s hand twines across Matsukawa’s shoulder from behind; he raises his own hand to lace their fingers together, his eyes remaining fixed on their vice captain as he stares down at his rice. Then:

“Yeah.”

Matsukawa pulls his gaze away from Iwaizumi to look back at his boyfriend, who has already taken his hand back and is pulling his phone from his bag. “That’s going on the sheet, right?”

“I figured I’d make a new column titled ‘soft moments of affection’. It’ll go on our master sheet, though, the first years don’t need access to this one.”

“Mm.” Matsukawa makes a soft noise of agreement, watching Hanamaki’s fingers tap the screen. It’ll be any moment now, he thinks.

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

Iwaizumi’s voice is pitched dangerously low, a tone usually used only for Oikawa when he’s being particularly shitty. “What sheet.”

Hanamaki scrolls with his thumb, squinting at something on his phone screen. “We made a google sheet. Anytime one of our dear little kouhai catch you two being gushy at inappropriate times, they have instructions to log it.” He glances up, completely unruffled by the way Iwaizumi is staring at him. “We’re pretty sure you two think you’re being way more subtle than you actually are. This is an act of public service.”

“Forget laps,” Iwaizumi breathes. “Oikawa is going to straight up murder you, and since he won’t want to mess up his hands with a shovel, _I’m_ gonna be the one who has to bury your bodies.” He groans, shutting his eyes and slumping back in his chair, letting his head fall back to meet the desk behind him.

Matsukawa reaches over to pat his arm soothingly, making a clicking noise with his tongue. “Think of it this way – when you two split off to do amazing things together you’ll always have this to look back on to remember the poor peons who had to put up with you.”

“It was a lot of work to set up, you know. I’d think you’d be more appreciative of a digital characterization of how much you two love each other.”

Iwaizumi makes a soft, strangled sound within his throat, his cheeks immediately going blotchy. “I’m… I’m going to go find Oikawa,” he mutters, setting his chopsticks down. He pushes himself up from the chair, leaving his bento on the desk. “Don’t touch my food.”

They wait until his back disappears through the doorway before breaking out into a fresh wave of giggles. Matsukawa turns in his seat, pulling his lunch with him so he and Hanamaki are eating from the same desk. “Do you think they’ve actually said it yet?” he asks, stabbing at a bit of carrot.

Hanamaki shrugs, stealing the same carrot with his chopsticks and popping it in his mouth. “Dunno,” he says, chewing. Matsukawa makes a face at him, then snags a bit of broccoli in retaliation. Hanamaki rolls his eyes, but continues. “I mean, it’s obvious they _do_ , it’s just whether either one of them’s gotten bold or stupid enough to say it first.”

Matsukawa hums around his mouthful of broccoli and bats his eyelashes playfully towards his boyfriend. Hanamaki shoves at his shoulder. “Yeah, exactly. Like you were.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah. You’ve got broccoli in your teeth.”

x

Neither Oikawa nor Iwaizumi join them for the rest of lunch. Matsukawa packs up Iwaizumi’s bento and sticks it in his bag to return to him at practice (making note that the cloth wrapping is _definitely_ one he’s seen Oikawa use a few times before). They split for their separate classes – Hanamaki to class 1 and Matsukawa to class 3 (the teachers learned back in first year to keep them apart during academic periods for the faculty’s collective sanity).

They meet again at the clubroom after school. Oikawa immediately assigns everyone (except Iwaizumi, even though everyone knows he’ll join them anyways) extra laps. There are still sparkles in his hair, Matsukawa notices, and he elbows Hanamaki gleefully to get him to look.

Oikawa assigns both of them an additional lap for that.

Worth it.

x

The next week follows a similar routine. Practice in the mornings usually ends with the faintest hint of glitter showing up on both Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s practice clothes – Matsukawa honestly isn’t sure just how Kindaichi’s doing it, since the admin stick is firmly locked in the clubroom during practice – and several additional rows of notations within the google sheet. Even Kunimi has gotten into it: Hanamaki found a bit of paper and a golf pencil hidden with their water bottle, covered in notes that catalog all indiscretions between the captain and his vice. All these notes end up in the google sheet immediately following practice, and it’s strangely heartwarming – and gross – to see how many rows are already filled.

“Do you guys want view-only access?” Matsukawa asks Oikawa a couple days later.

They’re walking home (or, in his and Hanamaki’s case, to the bus stop) from practice. Hanamaki has dropped back to speak quietly to Iwaizumi about something to do with math class, and Matsukawa quickly tuned them out. Oikawa looks at him sideways, brow furrowing. “To that google sheet thing?” he asks, wrinkling his nose at the thought. “No. I have no interest in watching other people make fun of my relationship in real time.”

Yeah, okay, so it hadn’t been going all _that_ well. He still refuses to speak to either of them at lunch, and he’s been in a particularly sour mood all week. Matsukawa and Hanamaki started trading off Kindaichi’s extra laps on day 2, after seeing just how exhausted the poor first year was from the initial set. By the end of practice on day 5, they fell asleep on each other on the bus home and nearly missed their stop.

Making sure their kouhai didn’t run himself to death made it worth it, but _gods_ they were tired.

“I think you’d be less upset about it if you actually saw it,” Matsukawa says quietly, running a hand up through his curls. He barely restrains a yawn. “The whole thing is just so you’d stop being gross in front of the first years. They don’t need to see that shit.”

“Not interested,” Oikawa sniffs. He pulls his phone out from his pocket and clicks through a few messages.

“Come on, Oikawa.”

The other boy ignores him, pink coloring his cheeks. “Not. Interested.”

“I just think you’d be pleasantly surprised, is all.”

There’s a soft noise of disapproval – Oikawa really can hold a grudge, Matsukawa thinks irritably – and before he can say anything else, Iwaizumi and Hanamaki appear over their shoulders. “Just think about it,” Matsukawa says, and then he and Hanamaki swerve towards the bus stop – away from the brown eyes that stare accusingly into his back.

x

“This is not going how I’d hoped,” Matsukawa complains the next Monday, surrounded by homework and sprawled out on his living room floor. “If we don’t sort this out soon, this weekend is going to _suck_.”

“Mm.” Hanamaki’s nose is buried in his English textbook. “The Iwaizumi and Oikawa thing?”

“Obviously.” Matsukawa’s own English textbook is lying forgotten somewhere by his knee. “Other than learning that our little Kindaichi is far braver than I’d ever have guessed – seriously, did you see the perfect glitter handprint he got on the back of Oikawa’s shirt on Saturday? – we’ve gotten _nowhere_ with this.”

“Mm.”

There is far too much planning to be done to be ignored right now. “Hiroooooo. You’re not listening to me.” He tosses a couch pillow at his boyfriend’s head.

Hanamaki raises an arm, blocking it. It falls harmlessly to the ground next to him. “Test tomorrow. Nope.”

Matsukawa grumbles under his breath and rolls onto his back, folding his hands behind his head to stare at the ceiling. He lies there a moment, shooting sideways glances at his studying boyfriend from beneath lowered eyebrows. Maybe he should be following Hanamaki’s example, but figuring out those stupid, mind-bending English verb tenses is not at the top of his priority list right now.

He huffs a sigh, overdramatic and loud. “Hiro.”

Hanamaki ignores him, flipping a page in his book. He scribbles something down in the margin, then shoves his pencil back behind his ear.

“ _Hiro._ ”

“ _What,_ Issei.”

Matsukawa grins lazily at him. “How many times d’you think Yahaba’s shoved Kyoutani-kun against a wall?”

“Oh my _god_ , Matsukawa.” Hanamaki flings the couch cushion back at him (with perhaps more force than strictly necessary, Matsukawa thinks idly) and it hits him square in the face. “That’s gross. I don’t want to think about that right now.”

“You’ve definitely wondered it before,” he shoots back, tossing the pillow to the side. “I bet it’s at least three.”

“You are so distracting.”

Matsukawa chuckles. He rolls over to press himself up against Hanamaki’s side, running a hand loosely through his boyfriend’s hair. “I could be more distracting.”

“I will end you.”

“Mm.” He hums in response, ruffling Hanamaki’s hair teasingly. “Fine. Talk to me then. Let’s figure out a game plan to deal with the two idiots.”

Hanamaki grumbles, shoving Matsukawa’s hand away from his head. “Yahaba and Kyoutani? Or Oikawa and Iwaizumi?”

“Who do you think? At least the first two haven’t reached the spooning stage yet. I don’t want to think what’ll happen if poor Kindaichi witnesses that. Or” – he pauses to shudder – “if one of _us_ gets dragged into the pile with them. You know we’re gonna have to be the buffer between them and the rest of the team, right?”

Hanamaki finally glances up from his textbook, quirking a thin eyebrow. “If Oikawa tries to spoon you, I’m taking at least eight pictures and then dumping him out a second-floor window.”

“I feel like Iwaizumi will take offense to that.”

“His boyfriend is spooning someone else. He’d help me lift.”

Matsukawa snorts, rolling away and onto his back again. His lips curl into a smile. “Help? You suggesting he’s stronger than you?”

This gets a reaction – Hanamaki’s head pops up and he shoots a glare Matsukawa’s way. “Absolutely _not_ ,” he growls, and immediately props an elbow up on the floor in a mock arm-wrestling position. “I’ll prove it.”

“I’m not arm wrestling you, babe.” When Hanamaki’s brow furrows, mouth opening in protest, Matsukawa shoves a hand playfully against his face. “You’d beat me,” he adds, placatingly, and he feels Hanamaki’s breath huff softly against his palm. After a moment, Hanamaki’s hand lowers, and Matsukawa taps him softly on the nose before pulling away. 

“Anyways. Now that you’re not studying, tell me you’re going to talk to him tomorrow. I’ll try to get Iwaizumi to help again. We’ll do that ‘divide and conquer’ thing they do in movies.” 

“Ugh.” The other boy ducks his head down and presses his face to the pages of his textbook. “Fine,” he says, voice muffled. “But you’re taking the futon next to theirs this weekend. I refuse to be this year’s Yoshida-san.”

Matsukawa rolls his eyes even as he nods. “Deal,” he says.

Hanamaki returns to his English textbook and Matsukawa rests back, staring at the ceiling. Thinking.

x 

Tuesday’s plan to talk to either of them does not pan out. They both are spectacularly ignored, even by Iwaizumi, and end up eating lunch alone in Hanamaki’s classroom. 

It gets worse. Oikawa shows up to morning practice on Wednesday in glasses, of all things. He changes and is gone from the clubroom faster than ever, long before Hanamaki has a chance to pull him aside, and Matsukawa can’t stop his gaze from straying to the bags beneath Iwaizumi’s eyes. 

“Glitter and contacts don’t mix well,” the vice captain says, feeling Matsukawa’s eyes on him. “It was a fluke, he rubbed his eye funny. Don’t worry about it,” he reassures, but there’s a set to his shoulders that suggests maybe, just maybe, there’s something to worry about after all.

They take Kindaichi aside after practice, before the boy can skitter away to his classes and after Oikawa – who was distinctly _out_ of it today, sending sets off to every corner of the gym without even seeming frazzled by it, which was just plain _weird_ – disappeared from the clubroom without a word, Iwaizumi’s hand resting gingerly at the small of his back. 

“We’re instating a change of plans, Kindaichi-kun,” Matsukawa says lightly, trying not to betray the flicker of worry inside his chest. 

“Mm,” Hanamaki nods from Kindaichi’s left, clapping a hand to the younger boy’s shoulder. “Oikawa’s reached a mood we haven’t seen since his knee – you weren’t there for that, it was bad – so we’re pulling a strategic retreat.”

“Try to reduce the hits to maybe two or three a day. Don’t worry so much about the nicknames thing.” Matsukawa sighs, rubbing the back of his head. “This was supposed to be _funny_ ,” he laments quietly. 

Kindaichi, trapped between their shoulders, looks vaguely panicked. His own shoulders have drifted to tense somewhere near his ears. “I’m… not sure it’s not,” he blurts out, glancing between them. “Kunimi heard them talking. They said that Iwaizumi-san was scolding Oikawa-san about how he’s leaning too far into this and how his glasses are fake anyways.”

“ _What?!_ ” 

The word rings as an echoing duet. Matsukawa exchanges a scandalized look with Hanamaki behind Kindaichi’s head. 

“Yeah.” Kindaichi shifts uncomfortably, but there’s the smallest of smiles twitching at the corners of his lips. “Kunimi says Oikawa actually looked _happy_ about the whole thing.” 

Hanamaki makes an exasperated noise in the back of his throat. “I’m going to throttle him,” he says. “Iwaizumi too.” 

“You don’t have the guts to throttle Iwaizumi, you still have half a crush on him,” Matsukawa says mildly, and watches with amused interest as Hanamaki’s cheeks flame red. 

“I _do not_ –”

Matsukawa reaches behind Kindaichi to shove a hand over Hanamaki’s mouth, pointedly ignoring his boyfriend’s outraged squawk. “Alright. Well. This means war, you know,” he tells Kindaichi. “There’s more glitter hiding in a bag on the top shelf in the clubroom. Feel free to add as much as you need to the stick. If you fill a little baggy and start flinging handfuls at them at random intervals, that probably wouldn’t go amiss either. Recruit Kunimi if you want.” 

He steps back, keeping his hand over Hanamaki’s mouth (despite the other boy very childishly licking his palm in an attempt to make him move), and Kindaichi is released from between their shoulders. “We’ll start stepping up our efforts,” Matsukawa promises, clapping him jovially on the shoulder. “Alright, good effort. Go on and we’ll see you at practice tomorrow.” 

Kindaichi glances between him and Hanamaki, then swallows and nods. “Alright. Goodnight.” 

As the first year makes his escape, Matsukawa finally removes his hand from Hanamaki’s mouth, wiping it on the shoulder of his boyfriend’s track jacket. Hanamaki makes a show of inhaling loudly and smacking his hand away, but Matsukawa ignores it. 

“We leave Saturday morning. I think it’s time to break out the big guns.” 

x

Oikawa shows up to morning practice on Thursday, still bespectacled and yet distinctly clean of glitter. Iwaizumi is not as lucky. 

Matsukawa barely restrains an all-out belly laugh at the sight of the team’s ace shimmering in the early morning sunlight. Behind him, Hanamaki does not have the same restraint. “Holy _shit_ ,” he gasps, bent over and clutching at his stomach. “What happened?” 

Iwaizumi scowls, but it doesn’t quite have the same effect when his hair – and face, and lips, and eyelashes, and shoulders – _sparkle_. 

Oikawa’s the one who answers, sweeping past them into the clubroom with a magnificent raise of both his middle fingers at them despite Watari’s presence in the corner. ““It was completely unprovoked! We were just _talking_ ,” he complains, brushing glitter out of Iwaizumi’s hair. It flutters to the ground in a rain of pink, but the overall effect doesn’t diminish. 

The door behind them opens again, allowing in the first years, who are both pink-cheeked and barely restraining smiles. “I was holding a handful of glitter – for no particular reason – and I heard ‘Crappykawa’ and I guess my hand slipped,” Kunimi deadpans, wiping their hands off on Kindaichi’s shoulder (which, to Matsukawa’s great delight, causes Kindaichi to flush a very faint shade of pink). “Iwaizumi-san just happened to be in the way.” They bow – actually _bow_ , the little menace – in Iwaizumi’s direction, murmuring an apology, and then turns to drop their bag on the bench and get changed. 

Iwaizumi looks a little like he’s been punched in the gut. He changes into his practice clothes slowly, muttering under his breath to Oikawa, and glitter falls off him with every movement, until the area around his and Oikawa’s bags is covered in hot pink. 

“Coach is not going to be happy that you’re tracking glitter all over the gym floor,” Hanamaki says dryly. He’s leaning back against the wall, ignoring the fact that he’s shirtless in order to best observe the glower Iwaizumi directs at him. “I’d be careful not to get it on your shoes.” 

Fully dressed in his practice clothes, Oikawa sniffs from beside his boyfriend, delicately pushing his (fake) glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “If either of you get a serve in the back of the head today I am not comforting you at your hospital bedside,” he says, and brushes a bit of glitter off the side of his bag. “In fact, if you end up at the hospital, I’m going to mix glitter into your applesauce.” 

“Accept defeat or step up, Captain,” Matsukawa says, saccharine-sweet, and the expression on Oikawa’s face clouds. 

“I hope you step on your shoelace and trip.” 

“I hope you get glitterbombed again.” 

“I hope you walk into a door.” 

“I hope you get glitterbombed by _Kyoutani-kun_.”

Oikawa gasps and his hand presses dramatically to his heart. Matsukawa isn’t sure if he’s being stupid or serious, but that’s nothing entirely new with Oikawa. “I hope you choke on a fishbone at lunch today,” the boy gasps out, and his eyes dart nervously towards the door. Kyoutani isn’t there, having already changed and gone down to the gym with Yahaba. Matsukawa is almost disappointed. 

“Sorry, Captain, I’ve got tofu for lunch,” he drawls, pointedly nudging his school bag with the toe of his foot. “Be mad.” 

There’s a soft titter of laughter from where the two first years have hidden themselves in the corner, and Hanamaki quickly steps in before they draw Oikawa’s attention. “My little sister made me hot dog octopuses for lunch, so no bones in those either,” he drawls. “Sounds like your curse will have to wait a few days.” 

“You’re both doing a hundred serves each this afternoon,” Oikawa warns, and his eyes flick over towards the first years. “And you two” – he raises his voice slightly, causing Kindaichi to look up and Kunimi to stiffen – “are both going to be receiving those serves.” 

Kindaichi nods, swallowing hard, and Kunimi looks a bit like they’ve been forced to bite into a lemon. Watari, changed and watching the full exchange from atop his bag, heaves a sigh and stands. “Alright, I’m heading down,” he says, patting Kunimi on the shoulder as he opens the door. He looks at both of the first years meaningfully. “I’ll be there to help with those receives,” he promises, and then the door shuts behind him.

Kindaichi and Kunimi exchange looks, and then they’re both scurrying out after him, avoiding Oikawa’s pinched glare behind hunched shoulders. 

Once it’s just the third years left in the clubroom, Hanamaki slumps down a bit further, his legs stretching across the limited floorspace. “We know those glasses are fake, Oikawa,” he says meaningfully. 

Oikawa’s hand immediately shoots to the side of his frames, long fingers resting on the stem. “They are _not_!” he shoots back, defensive, and Matsukawa snorts.

Next to Oikawa, Iwaizumi slides down to the floor, flopping his legs over Hanamaki’s. “Give it up, Oikawa,” he sighs, using a thumbnail to pick glitter out from under another fingernail. His gaze slides upwards to look at Hanamaki, one eyebrow rising towards his hairline. “We’re ready to talk terms. How do we stop this?” 

Hanamaki starts bouncing his knees, shaking Iwaizumi’s legs atop his own. “Legit? We weren’t kidding. Just cool it in front of the first years.” He tries to lift one leg up a bit higher, pushing Iwaizumi’s legs nearly into his lap, but Hanamaki’s legs are noodly and Iwaizumi is stronger and soon Hanamaki’s legs are pinned flat. The boy lets out a frustrated huff but leans back against the bench, momentarily accepting his defeat. “We figured you’d get the picture within a couple days; we weren’t expecting it to go this long.” 

“Doesn’t mean we _won’t_ recruit Kyoutani-kun if we have to, though,” Matsukawa adds, shrugging. He sits on the bench, his left knee brushing Hanamaki’s ear. “Honestly, you were lucky it was Yahaba that caught you two in the equipment room on Saturday. You can’t keep your tongues in your own mouths for ten damn minutes?” 

Oikawa’s arms are folded across his chest. “Neither of you get it,” he snaps, shoving at his bag with his toe. “You two have time. You’ve always had time.”

“Oikawa.” 

Iwaizumi’s voice is soft, but it carries worry and warning. 

Oikawa ignores him.

“Iwa-chan and I _don’t_ have time. As soon as we graduate it’s over. We’re making use of what we’ve got, and yeah maybe we’re a bad example for the kouhai but I _don’t care_.” 

“ _Tooru. _”__

__“They’re gonna find out eventually, Hajime.”_ _

__There’s a sinking feeling building in Matsukawa’s chest, made worse by the frustration on Iwaizumi’s face and the tension of Oikawa’s shoulders. “You’re not telling us something.”_ _

__“Fuck off and just… let us have this, would you?” Iwaizumi asks before Oikawa can reply, and there’s a weird pleading tone to his voice. “It was funny at first but it’s just starting to get old now.” He runs a hand through his hair as a demonstration, raising an eyebrow at them both when pink glitter falls out like rain. When he pulls his hand from his head, it, too, sparkles. “He and I have had to start doing our laundry together. We’re not allowed to put our clothes in with anyone else’s. And it is not _nearly_ as fun doing laundry with your boyfriend when half his shit has to be on special wash cycles.” _ _

__“That sweater was cashmere, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hisses, and Iwaizumi flips a hand back to smack him gently in the leg._ _

__“It’s September, it’s still hot out, and you’re a dumbass for wearing cashmere without checking the weather forecast.”_ _

__“I have to get use out of it while I can, don’t I?”_ _

__Iwaizumi groans and closes his eyes, resting his head back against the bench. “Winter is a thing _there_ , too, Oikawa,” he grouses. He doesn’t even open his eyes to flick his boyfriend in the leg, causing Oikawa to give out a soft yelp. “You know what? Fine. Tell them if you want. At least then I won’t be the only one reminding you how geography works.” _ _

__“You’re so mean to me, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouts._ _

__“What the fuck is going on,” Hanamaki cuts in, jiggling his legs underneath Iwaizumi’s again._ _

__Iwaizumi’s eyes slide open, and he and Oikawa exchange a look. Oikawa swallows hard, but nods. “Okay,” he says softly, sinking down to join Iwaizumi and Hanamaki on the floor. He sits directly in a pile of glitter, but doesn’t seem to notice, preoccupied with putting his legs atop Hanamaki’s and entwining one ankle with Iwaizumi. Hanamaki makes a soft noise of discomfort, and Matsukawa rests a hand on his boyfriend’s head, twirling a strand of hair around his finger._ _

__An odd weight has filled the clubroom. Oikawa is quiet, his eyes focused on the way his and Iwaizumi’s legs are touching, but his mind clearly drifts elsewhere, spinning out how to word what he’s about to say. Matsukawa’s belly feels weighed down with lead; whatever Oikawa is about to reveal, he’s not sure he wants to hear it._ _

__Oikawa opens his mouth. “I–”_ _

__The clubroom door swings open, and Kindaichi’s head appears around the edge. “Um, Coach says if you’re not in the gym in the next thirty seconds we all have to do something like fifty burpees and I really don’t want to die today, so could you…?”_ _

__The pensive expression on Oikawa’s face disappears in a heartbeat, replaced with a brilliant, completely fake smile. “Right behind you, Kindaichi-chan,” he lilts, scrambling to his feet. Next to him, Iwaizumi does the same. The moment Kindaichi’s face disappears, the smile is gone and they’re both levelling Matsukawa and Hanamaki with a serious look. “The roof at lunch,” Oikawa promises, and he grabs his shoes with one hand and entwines Iwaizumi’s fingers with his other. They disappear from the clubroom half a moment later, leaving Hanamaki to shake out his legs (“they’re _asleep_!” he groans, trying – and failing – to push himself to his feet) and Matsukawa to provide a stable base upon which to lean. They stumble out of the clubroom as fast as they can. _ _

__Coach is in a bad mood that morning. All four third-years still have to do twenty burpees, and just like that Oikawa’s expression is wiped from Matsukawa’s mind until lunchtime._ _

__x_ _

__Meeting on the roof for lunch is a rare affair. Usually, thanks simply to the ease of walking across the hall, they meet in each other’s classrooms, piling into empty desks and loudly causing trouble at each other’s expense. The roof has always been saved for Big Talks: Hanamaki told them about his older sister’s car accident and injury on the roof. Iwaizumi was the first to admit his sexuality on the roof (they all knew already, and it led to a tear-filled pile of four first-almost-second-years clinging to each other, chorusing ‘me too’ or similar statements until their lunches laid forgotten on the concrete). Matsukawa had shakily told them about his mom’s diagnosis on the roof. Oikawa first openly cried about his knee, and the surgery he was told he’d probably need, on the roof._ _

__And now they’re back, and Iwaizumi is fidgeting, and Oikawa is eerily quiet._ _

__There’s a stiff breeze blowing, pulling at their hair and clothes. Iwaizumi shimmers pink in the sunlight. Oikawa is leaning into him, shifted down so he can rest his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi has an arm wrapped around his waist, fingers pressed hard enough into the fabric of his uniform jacket to leave wrinkles. His other hand is drawing nonsense patterns against the concrete, his fingernails scraping, setting the hair on Matsukawa’s neck on edge._ _

__No one says anything for a long while. Their bentos sit out, unwrapped and uncovered, but Hanamaki hasn’t even touched his chopsticks and Matsukawa feels too uneasy to eat just yet._ _

__Finally, Oikawa lets out a deep, long sigh, picking his head up from Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “I’ve been given an offer,” he starts, and despite the shorter pause that follows this no one else speaks. He swallows. “After graduation, I’m probably going to be moving out of Miyagi.”_ _

__Not quite the surprise Matsukawa was expecting. They all knew Oikawa would be getting offers. They all knew he’d be leaving them for bigger and better things. Tokyo teams would be fighting over him. There was a mini-pool already going between the third and second-years as to what team he’d end up choosing – right now, most of the bets were for the Adlers, but Matsukawa had his money on the Jackals (if only because their uniforms were that much better)._ _

__Iwaizumi pushes an elbow gently into his boyfriend’s side. “Oikawa,” he murmurs, brow furrowing._ _

__Oikawa grimaces. “Fine,” he mutters, flicking a stray bit of glitter off his knee. “The offer is, ah… it’s with José Blanco’s team. In Argentina.”_ _

__The lead weight in Matsukawa’s stomach is suddenly back and it’s made friends with six other lead weights. “Holy _shit_ ,” he hears Hanamaki breathe, and he knows that they’ve got matching expressions right now because what the _hell_ , this wasn’t part of the bet at all, this is so far outside the realm of the bet that no one had even brought it up, how – _ _

__“Provided it goes through, I’m leaving shortly after graduation. So like… seven, maybe eight months from now. And Iwa-chan–”_ _

__Iwaizumi’s eyes are a weird combination of hollow and exultant. “I still have to pass the TOEFL, but I’m applying to college in America. Sports medicine. Hopefully, this time next year I’ll be taking classes in California.”_ _

__Matsukawa thinks his heart has stopped. Next to him, Hanamaki is stiff and staring._ _

__Oikawa twines his fingers together with Iwaizumi’s._ _

__Realization clicks into place._ _

__“Holy shit.” Matsukawa finds himself echoing Hanamaki’s earlier words, but everything else just feels too little, too forced. “Um. Congratulations, I guess,” he manages, and he’s unable to tear his eyes off their faces, gaze flickering between them even as the lead weights in his stomach keep him pinned to the concrete. “Just… holy shit, you guys.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Iwaizumi murmurs, pointedly watching the way his and Oikawa’s fingers fit together as if trying to memorize the action. Matsukawa supposes he might actually be doing just that. “Holy shit.”_ _

__“Holy shit,” Hanamaki repeats, and Oikawa snorts._ _

__“Choose another expression, I feel like I’m in an echo chamber.”_ _

__“Holy _fuck_ ,” Matsukawa says, and Iwaizumi smiles. The tension in both his and Oikawa’s shoulders lessens. _ _

__“I guess this explains the rampant PDA, then,” Hanamaki comments, poking the side of his bento. He picks up his chopsticks and twirls one around his finger. “I guess you’re keeping all of this quiet until you get more details, then?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Iwaizumi replies. “English is _hard_ , so the TOEFL is going to suck.”_ _

__“And we still have to get through the Spring High and Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa adds, his expression darkening at the thought of the Shiratorizawa captain. “This is my last year to do it. I’m going to kick both his and little Tobio-chan’s asses.”_ _

__“Ushiwaka maybe, but I don’t think Kageyama-kun has an ass,” Iwaizumi mutters. “He takes after you there, too.”_ _

__“ _Mean_!” _ _

__“True,” Iwaizumi replies, and the rest of the tension is sliding away, blown away by the breeze still whipping at their hair._ _

__“I’m glad you told us,” Hanamaki says quietly, seriously, looking out over the edge of the roof at the swaying trees planted towards the edge of campus. “We’re happy for you both.”_ _

__Matsukawa nods his agreement. “The congratulations was sincere,” he adds. “We’re gonna have to figure out how to watch Argentinian volleyball online, so make sure you send us links and stuff once you get there.” He nudges Iwaizumi’s leg with his own. “And _you_ better send us pictures of all the weird shit Americans do.” _ _

__Iwaizumi snorts. “It’s college. People are taking classes and studying at one of the best colleges in the country. It can’t be _that_ weird.” _ _

__“That was such a humblebrag, Iwaizumi, holy shit.”_ _

__“ _Please_ find a new exclamation, I am begging you,” Oikawa mutters._ _

__“Just for that, no.”_ _

__“You’re also not getting out of the sparkles just yet,” Hanamaki cuts in, shoving a hand over Matsukawa’s mouth. “Just because you need your PDA doesn’t mean you need to do it in front of the first years. We get it, really, but also? Still gross, still inappropriate.”_ _

__Matsukawa does his best to drool all over Hanamaki’s hand even as Iwaizumi and Oikawa scowl at them both._ _

__x_ _

__The first day of training camp goes by far too quickly. They win far more sets than they lose, rotating in non-starters every few games to give them a taste of the court and high-level opponents. By the time they finish dinner and bathe (third years get first turn in the baths, thankfully), Matsukawa is on the verge of exhausted collapse._ _

__The Datekou coaches have set aside a room for them, and their futons are already rolled out and ready to go (as promised, Matsukawa is the one stuck closest to Oikawa and Iwaizumi). It’s all the way across the room. The walk there looks far too long, so he turns his attention to the first years next to the door, waiting for their turn in the bath._ _

__Kindaichi is slumped back against the wall in boxers and his practice t-shirt, blotchy red forearms resting on his knees and pointed towards the ceiling. On the floor in front of him, Kunimi is stretched face-down on the floor, their own forearms pressed into the cool tile below. It’s a pose Matsukawa remembers fondly._ _

__“You alright?” he asks, poking at Kindaichi’s shoulder. Hanamaki nudges Kunimi’s foot with his toe. Kunimi doesn’t move._ _

__“No,” Kindaichi groans. “I think Kunimi’s dead and if I have to do one more receive I’m following them straight down to hell.”_ _

__“Shut up, I’m not going to hell.” Kunimi’s voice is muffled by the fact that their cheek is pressed into the tile, but it sounds clear enough. Not dead, then. Good. “I’m going to exist on this plane to haunt you and everyone who ever made me receive a serve until I get exorcised.”_ _

__“You ate half my katsudon at lunch today,” Kindaichi grumbles, sitting up. His shirt ends up on top of Kunimi’s head, and Kunimi makes a disgusted sound in the back of their throat as they’re engulfed even more completely by the smell of sweaty teenage boy. “That is definitely worth hell.”_ _

__“It was delicious.” Kunimi’s groggy voice floats from beneath the sweaty shirt. They’ve made no effort to move despite the now-subpar conditions. “And not sharing with your friend is probably also hell-worthy.”_ _

__“Now now, kids,” Hanamaki drawls. He stoops to pick the shirt off Kunimi’s head and tosses it back at Kindaichi, who catches it more out of reflex than anything else. Kunimi doesn’t move; they mutter something unintelligible – Matsukawa isn’t sure it’s even words – into the tile. “Behave.”_ _

__Eh. They’ll be fine._ _

__They step over Kunimi’s prone form and Kindaichi’s outstretched legs towards their own futons, unrolled in the corner. Iwaizumi is already in his, lying on his stomach and tapping patterns with the tip of his pencil on the blank piece of paper in front of him. “’m supposed to be figuring out who’s gonna be in the non-starters sets tomorrow,” he says to them as they approach, “but I feel like I’ve forgotten even my own name, let alone the names of that pack of first years.”_ _

__Hanamaki snorts and dumps his things at the foot of his futon, and in mere moments, he’s lying on his side beneath the blanket facing away from them. Matsukawa has always admired how quickly the other boy is able to get comfortable. “Save it for morning, vice,” he advises, stifling a yawn. “And make Oikawa help you. It’s his job too.”_ _

__“Where is he, anyways?” Matsukawa asks, crawling onto his own futon. It’s a little too close to Iwaizumi’s for comfort, so he shifts it over just slightly towards Hanamaki. Whether that will help or not is anyone’s guess. “I’m surprised he’s not asleep already.”_ _

__Iwaizumi shrugs, fighting back a yawn of his own. “He wanted to check something with Coach.” He picks up his phone, frowns at the time. “Should’ve been back by now.”_ _

__“Bet you he got kidnapped by Johzenji.”_ _

__“He did _not_ get kidnapped by Johzenji.” _ _

__“Bet he did,” Hanamaki agrees. “Their captain was ogling. Surprised you didn’t notice.”_ _

__Iwaizumi darkens, his brow furrowing as he scowls. “I’m going to go find him,” he mutters, dropping his phone and the pencil to push himself up. Matsukawa yawns, and is immediately prodded by Iwaizumi’s foot. “You’re both coming with me. If Johzenji’s involved, we need manpower.”_ _

__Before Matsukawa can pull the blanket over his head, Iwaizumi bends down and drags it off him. “Come on. Please?”_ _

__There’s something about the ‘please’ that makes Matsukawa relent. Iwaizumi doesn’t do ‘please’ often, not with his fellow third years, and the fact that this of all things is drawing it out of him is groan-inducing. “Fine.” He sits up slowly, feeling all the muscles in his shoulders and back protest. Next to him, Hanamaki lets out a soft snore._ _

__“Fake shit,” Iwaizumi scoffs, and then Hanamaki’s blanket is also gone and the boy is blinking up at them, lips pursed in annoyance. “Come on.”_ _

__Hiding more yawns behind their hands, all three boys shuffle out of the room. They have to step over Kunimi again (who is definitely asleep this time, if the way they’re snoring into the tile is any indication) and exit just in time to wave at the second years returning from their bath from the opposite direction._ _

__Iwaizumi takes a moment to pass on the duties of captain and vice-captain to a disgruntled and dripping Yahaba, who’s nursing a small welt on his arm and trying pointedly not to glare at a giggling (and entirely unrepentant) Watari, whose towel is twisted and draped innocently over his arm. “Make sure the first years get cleaned up,” Iwaizumi mutters to him as the third years exit, and the glare becomes a resigned look of despair towards the two sprawled out on the floor._ _

__They make their way down the hall, passing a few first years from Wakunan who skitter closer to the wall as they move by, and Iwaizumi peers around the doorframe to their room as they pass. When there’s no sign of Oikawa, he pulls back quickly and continues walking, ignoring the curious yell from the Wakunan wing spiker with the pineapple hair._ _

__The Johzenji boys have a room on the floor below – a decision made by the coaches in an attempt to avoid noise complaints by the other teams – so Iwaizumi leads them to the nearest stairwell. He rips open the door with a grunt of frustration and starts storming down the stairs, until –_ _

__“Iwa-chan?”_ _

__Iwaizumi’s head whips around; he’s back up the three steps he took and darting up the next few, meeting Oikawa on the landing between floors. “What are you doing?” he breathes, brow furrowed. “Everything okay?”_ _

__Hanamaki nudges Matsukawa with his elbow, and Matsukawa nods. Together, they turn and start out the door to head back to the room, but Oikawa’s voice again stops them. “Stay. Please?”_ _

__With an exchanged look, the two boys turn back._ _

__Oikawa sits on the top step, legs pulled to his chest and Iwaizumi’s arm around his shoulders. His eyes are red, rubbed free of tears and yet ready to again overflow. “Stay,” he repeats, gesturing them closer._ _

__They sit on the step below him, Hanamaki with his back to the wall and Matsukawa against the railing. Their legs stretch out in front of them until their ankles are side-by-side._ _

__There’s a long moment of silence._ _

__Finally… “You okay?” Matsukawa ventures, trying not too look too pointedly at his tear-rimmed eyes. “You get yelled at by Coach or something?”_ _

__Oikawa snorts, rubbing at his eyes again with the back of one hand. “No. I’m just… I’m not ready to stop playing volleyball yet,” he mumbles, and he lets out a huff of breath that might be a self-deprecating laugh or might be a sigh._ _

__Iwaizumi swats at him. “Don’t get started on this again,” he warns, expression darkening. “You’re going pro, remember?”_ _

__The other boy sniffs and grumbles something that causes Iwaizumi to swat at him again. Rather than protest, Oikawa pushes him away, shrugging out from under his arm. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not ready to stop playing volleyball with _you_. But we don’t get to keep playing unless we get to Nationals,” he says, anger tinging his voice, setting it half a pitch higher in his frustration. “And we’re not getting to Nationals unless we beat Ushiwaka-chan, and we’re not going to beat fucking _Ushiwaka Youth All-Japan_ if we don’t get better _fast_.”_ _

__The stunned silence that follows is broken after only a few seconds by the sharp sound of a smack. “What the _fuck_ , Shittykawa, do you think that little of your team?” Iwaizumi snarls, grabbing hold of the front of Oikawa’s shirt. “What do you think we’re doing here, huh? Having a party? Were you paying _any_ attention to your teammates today, or were you really all wrapped up in this pity party of yours?” With every word, he pulls Oikawa a little closer until they’re nearly nose to nose. Oikawa’s eyes are wide. “Did you not see Kindaichi spiking against Datekou today? We won that set because of him. Or how Yahaba opened up the block for Kunimi against Wakunan?”_ _

__“Oh, and did you see Watari save that weirdly placed spike from the new Datekou captain? He got all mad when Watari lifted that up, I thought their middle blocker – that creepy one without eyebrows – was going to stare him to death,” Hanamaki cuts in, lifting a leg to prod Oikawa’s shin with his foot. Iwaizumi releases his hold on Oikawa’s shirt, and the boy pulls his knees back close to his chest and away from Hanamaki’s slippered toes. “I’d like to see _you_ try to receive that.” _ _

__“And Kyoutani only almost injured one person today, which has gotta be a new record,” Matsukawa adds, grinning. “Plus, we’re training with Johzenji, and they’re almost weird enough to get practice for when we go against Karasuno again.”_ _

__At the mention of Karasuno, Oikawa snorts, expression darkening again. “If they make it through,” he says petulantly, and Iwaizumi swats him again._ _

__“How many people are on the damn court, Oikawa?”_ _

__Oikawa grumbles, burying his face in his knees._ _

__“ _How many people._ ”_ _

__The answer comes back quiet, muttered against skin. “Six.”_ _

__“Louder.”_ _

__Oikawa groans, picking his head up to purse his lips at his boyfriend. “Six,” he says, with only a little more volume this time. “Six people on the court. I _know_ , Iwa-chan. And I know they’re all getting better. But that doesn’t mean they’re all magically going to be able to go up against Ushiwaka and win.” At Iwaizumi’s glare, he curls up a bit tighter, pulling his knees closer to his chest. “I can only do so much,” he murmurs. _ _

__Iwaizumi lets out an exasperated sigh. “You know that’s what we’re here for, right?” he asks, gesturing vaguely towards Matsukawa and Hanamaki. Matsukawa waves; Hanamaki waggles his foot in the air in front of him (Oikawa rolls his eyes at it). “You haven’t been alone since day one, and we’re not letting you be alone now. Whether it’s here or on the court.”_ _

__“Ushiwaka is the human embodiment of a brick,” Hanamaki says mildly. “Bricks are great for building solid foundations of things, but they’re not eternal.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Matsukawa agrees, leaning forward. There’s a smile growing on his face – solemn and serious and all-too-pleased. “He’s made a mistake looking down on us. Let us at him. We’re gonna be the shitty angry vines that tear that asshole brick down.”_ _

__Oikawa looks up, wide brown eyes rimmed with red. His gaze flickers between the three of them, landing finally on Iwaizumi, whose arm is wrapped protectively around his shoulders. “If we don’t make it through, I won’t get to play volleyball with you guys anymore,” he murmurs, leaning closer._ _

__“Don’t start,” Hanamaki warns. “We are not going there.”_ _

__“You can go there once we’re all good and ready to go there, but that’s not happening until after Nationals.”_ _

__Oikawa snorts softly and wipes his face on Iwaizumi’s sleeve. Iwaizumi shoves him off – gently – but relents at the look on Oikawa’s face. He rolls his eyes and brings his boyfriend back close, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “You’re a dumbass,” he says quietly, fondly, and Oikawa hums a soft, pleased noise._ _

__Hanamaki prods at Matsukawa’s ankle with his foot. “I think we should show them,” he says softly, waggling his phone. “He’s already crying, he can’t yell at us for messing up his pretty face any further than it already is.”_ _

__Oikawa opens one eye to glare at them. “What are you two talking about,” he asks flatly, his voice only a little nasally from crying. “Is this about that stupid document you made? I told you, I don’t want to see it. Especially now.”_ _

__“Relax, Oikawa,” Hanamaki says, rolling his eyes. He taps his screen a few times, scrolling through the latest additions, and snorts at the latest. “Kunimi is really good at these.”_ _

__Matsukawa picks himself up and pushes himself up one step, turning so he’s sitting on Oikawa’s other side. “So is Kyoutani, surprisingly enough,” he says, pulling out his own phone. “As much as that kid gets tunnel vision on the court, he’s surprisingly observant when it comes to everything else.”_ _

__“Mm. He usually just doesn’t _care_ ,” Hanamaki adds, smirking. He hands his phone over to Iwaizumi, and Matsukawa does the same with his to Oikawa. “Just scroll through a bit. To the side a little, too. We organized it by date originally but it’s gotten a little messy.” _ _

__Resigned, Iwaizumi presses his lips together in a fine line and forces his gaze down towards the screen. He taps at it. He starts to read._ _

__His eyes widen. “This is…”_ _

__Oikawa eyes him critically for a moment, unsure whether to give in and look at the screen in his hands. It’s only when Iwaizumi makes a soft sound of – disbelief? shock? astonishment? – that he finally builds up the courage to glance down. He taps at the screen with his thumb._ _

__His expression shifts. He scrolls down, lips moving as he mouths the words on the screen. He is silent for a long, long moment._ _

__Hanamaki exchanges glances with Matsukawa. He looks pleased with himself. Matsukawa raises his eyebrows, shooting a lazy grin back at him._ _

__“This is basically just… what the hell, you guys?” Iwaizumi finally looks up after maybe a minute, his finger tapping at the screen to highlight a cell. “I sort of feel like my privacy has been invaded but this is also… really sweet.”_ _

__There’s a soft sniffle from Oikawa. He doesn’t say anything; he only presses closer to Iwaizumi, wrapping an arm so they’re linking elbows. Iwaizumi lets him, turning his head away from the screen for a moment to press a kiss to Oikawa’s temple._ _

__Hanamaki smirks. “Remind me to add that one in there when you guys are done,” he says, and Iwaizumi kicks him gently, eyes locked back on to the phone._ _

__“You got the whole team in on this,” he says after a moment. He looks up, brow furrowing. “Do they know what’s happening after graduation?”_ _

__Matsukawa immediately shakes his head, feeling the last few drops of water spring from his curls. “No. This wasn’t actually supposed to get as sappy as it did,” he says, lips twitching. “It was meant to be a satiric take on how often you two get all cute and lovey dovey with each other in public.”_ _

__“It was when we realized how much softer and sappier you were when you think you’re the only ones around – which is rarely, by the way, you guys have terrible situational awareness – that everyone started getting into it as more a catalog of how much you two love each other.”_ _

__There’s an immediate flush that spreads from both their cheeks, into their ears and down the back of their necks. Iwaizumi’s is especially blotchy; Oikawa’s fills his whole face, making him look like he’s eaten something far too spicy._ _

__Nope, they’ve definitely not said it to each other yet. Maybe it’s time to beat a retreat._ _

__Matsukawa’s lips press into a line in an attempt to hold back his laughter. Next to Iwaizumi, Hanamaki is clearly struggling to do the same. “We’ll send you the link, if you want to give our phones back,” he says, reaching out to gesture towards the device. “That way you can look over them whenever.”_ _

__Hanamaki’s head tilts to the side. He eyes them a moment, face inscrutable. “Pretty sure google sheets works in Argentina and America, too,” he mentions blithely, plucking his phone out of Iwaizumi’s suddenly slack grasp. He treats both of them to a sunny smile. “Just thought I’d mention it.”_ _

__And then he’s standing, snagging Matsukawa’s phone out of Oikawa’s grasp, and taking hold of Matsukawa’s hand to pull him to his feet. “We’ll meet you back in the room, lovebirds,” he says, and only years of learning how to speak Hanamaki clues Matsukawa into the hidden laughter beneath his words._ _

__They exit the stairwell. As the door closes behind them, Hanamaki swiftly sends a read-only version of the google sheets to both Oikawa and Iwaizumi; from behind the closed door, they can hear the telltale chirps of new messages coming from both phones._ _

__“They’re gonna be okay,” Matsukawa says softly. He pulls his phone from Hanamaki’s grasp and slides it into his pocket, then takes hold of Hanamaki’s now-free hand, lacing their fingers together. “They’ll be separated for a while, yeah, but they’ve got something special going on. It’ll be hard but I don’t see them breaking up just because of distance.” They start to walk back to their room; he squeezes Hanamaki’s hand, then brings it up to his lips to kiss the back of his knuckles. “We did a good thing.”_ _

__“Mm.” Hanamaki hums his agreement, squeezing Matsukawa’s hand in response. “So what do you think, how long until we send Kindaichi and Kunimi in there?”_ _

__Matsukawa snorts, and then Hanamaki is chuckling, and the two find their way to their futons with hands still entwined._ _

__x_ _

__They wake up the next morning with fingers still laced together, Oikawa’s legs wrapped around Iwaizumi and Matsukawa both, and hot pink glitter dumped liberally over all four of them._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3 thanks for reading; I hope you had as much fun as I did ;)


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